


Mouse in My Pocket

by M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng



Series: Mousie'Verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, George Weasley in mourning, George can't stop himself, Gratuitous jokes, I'd say I'm sorry, Improper plural of "mouse", My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Series, Warning for mentions of canon character death and inappropriate puns/jokes about it, but I think Fred would like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 17:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng/pseuds/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng
Summary: A coping mechanism/joke starts a tradition and a collection for a twin left alone.





	Mouse in My Pocket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1917farmgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1917farmgirl/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, settings, or events; all rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I also did not kill Fred Weasley; all rights for that belong to J.K. Rowling as well.
> 
> This is dedicated to 1917farmgirl, because Fred and George are her boys and she gives me endless encouragement in my writing, regardless of whether she's in the fandom I'm writing for or not. You've been a fantastic friend, farmgirl, so here you go!
> 
> Many thanks to looneylizzie who gave this a read-through for Potter accuracy.

“Hey, Freddie.” He flopped down next to the cold stone that was somehow supposed to replace his other half, brushing snow away carefully. “It’s Christmas.”

Finished, he tucked his damp gloves up under his armpits and stared into the distance. “I missed you,” he continued. “I miss you every day, but . . . it’s a little different on Christmas, somehow. Feels like a milestone and those aren’t supposed to happen without you. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, just one of us, alone. It was supposed to be you and me, forever and always. I’m one of _them_ , now; one of those poor losers without a twin.” He sat lost in thought for a moment, then brought himself back to the present with a sniff.

“Everyone else misses you especially today, too. Mum got all teary every time she saw someone wearing their sweater, especially me. Merlin knows how she actually managed to make them. Glad no one else has one with an ‘F;’ if it’d been me, Ginny’d probably never get another sweater. 

“Everyone’s been even more careful about talkin’ about you today, too. Like if we mentioned you we’d all fall apart or somethin’. Bill covered up the clock halfway through dinner, even, said we didn’t need it with everyone here, but he kinda stumbled when he said ‘everyone,’ like maybe he shouldn’t and then some of them gave me funny looks and some of them refused to look at me at all. No one would say it, but we all knew he was just covering it up so we wouldn’t have to see your hand on it. Dad can’t bring himself to take it off, see, and, well, it’s accurate.” If his laugh sounded more like a sob, bitter and aching and angry, there was no one else around to say anything. He sniffed again.

“Don’t worry, though, I cheered ‘em all up. I wouldn’t let you down, Freddie; Christmas pranks are a tradition. Got both Ginny and Harry and Ron and Hermione with the mistletoe. And then Luna Lovegood popped by to drop some presents off and I got her and Charlie. Shoulda seen the look on his face, you woulda died laughing.” He elbowed the stone beside him, laughing wetly himself. “But ol’ Luna just went up on her tippy toes and gave him a peck on the cheek, cool as you like, and walked away without a word.” He continued describing all of his smaller pranks of the day. “And then the grand finale, Freddie, I made every light on the tree burst into sparkles one after the other and all the tinsel take to the air and rain down like confetti. It was a beautiful piece of work, even Fleur said so, and she knows how to appreciate beauty, even if she did marry Bill.”

There was another moment of silence, happier and more contented this time.

“Oh, hey, Freddie, something to show you.” He twisted himself so he could dig something from his pocket and held it up proudly. It was a life-size toy mouse, soft brown fuzz for fur and pink cloth for the nose and insides of the ears and little black buttons for eyes, stiff little body with the merest suggestion of legs and a limp tail. “Dad got it from somewhere. Says it’s something muggle joke shops carry. It’s a mouse, see, you wind it up and set it loose on the floor somewhere and it takes off, looking like a real mouse running. It’s a solid prank.

“It’s good for other things, too. I—It’s—I’m not doing so well with . . . everything, Freddie. I—Sometimes it’s like I forget—for just a second—that you’re . . . not with me, and . . . I talk to you or—or I say “we” when I should say “I” now. I’m sorry. Can’t help it. You’re a part of me, Freddie, even now. Always will be.

“Anyway, when I mess up and say “we” or when I’m talking when you’re—when no one’s there, people look at me funny. But if I pull this little guy out and make a joke about a mouse in my pocket, then they start laughing or smiling instead of looking like they’re waiting for me to break and wondering if I already have.

“People think I’m broken without you, Freddie, or lost or damaged or—or something. Like I’m half a man now. Some days I think they’re right.” He laughed, but there was an edge to it, bitter and angry and scared and so lost now. Then he sniffed and pulled himself together. 

“But don’t you worry about me, Freddie.” He held up the mouse with a crooked little grin. “You’re with me in spirit.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie,” he greeted, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets, angrily. “Happy April Fools.”

He scowled at the ground for a minute in silence before he kicked at the dirt. “We’re not the same age anymore. It’s . . . weird. _No_ , scratch that, it’s _wrong_. It’s just _wrong_. You shouldn’t be gone, Freddie. There’s a hole in me and I’m not talking about my ear. There’s—there’s so much . . . _life_ left, so much to do and see and _be_ and how am I gonna do it without _you_? How am I supposed to live without you, Freddie? _How?_ It’s been almost a year and I’m breaking apart. People act like missing an ear is a handicap, or an arm or a leg, but _you_ —missing you is the handicap and I would gladly give up my arm and my leg if you could come back. I _need_ you, Freddie. I can’t go on without you.”

He fell to his knees, sobbing brokenly, and leaned forward until his head rested on the edge of the stone and his fingers gripped the sides, white and desperate. Finally his sobs quieted and he whispered, “We were supposed to grow old together, Freddie. We were supposed to always be Fred and George. We’re not supposed to be separate.” One of his hands traced the name he should never have seen on a headstone. “I miss you, Freddie. So much.”

He took a moment to pull himself together, sitting back and wiping away tears. Then he fished something from his pocket, a little grey toy mouse, fur torn off in some places and matted in others, a flare of cloth where a tail had once been, it’s single ear tinged with just a hint of pink and indents where its eyes and nose should be as if there had once been something there.

“Built a better mouse, Freddie. It’s enchanted to run around like a real mouse when it’s activated; this one was my prototype. Got mauled by Hermione’s cat on my test run, ‘member I told you? And I think ‘Mione might have hexed it once or twice, too. It’s missing an ear, see, just like me, and a tail. Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here: I am definitely comparing you to a tail.

“Mousie here is named Fred, too. Well, not Fred Two, that’s the other one I showed you at Christmas. This one here is Fred Three of course.”

He studied the mouse for a moment. “I suppose I’m meant to take the fact that it still works fine even though it’s missing an ear and a tail and everything else as some kind of metaphor. That life can go on, even when it doesn’t seem like it, even when you’re missing half of who you are. Yeah, I hear ya.”

He pulled out a second toy mouse, this one in pristine condition, and set it on the ledge around the bottom of the stone, casting protective charms over it. “Here’s a working one for you, thought . . . It might help, you know, knowing you’ve got one, too.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” With a deep sigh, he shuffled his feet. “It’s, uh—It’s your anniversary, I guess. If you wanna call it that. ‘Anniversary’ seems like a terrible thing to call something that’s not at all happy. A lot of people are celebrating the end of the war and old Moldyshorts, though, so I guess it _is_ happy for them. I can’t bring myself to celebrate, though. Not this year. Maybe next year.

“I made sure nobody forgot about you in their celebrations, though. You’re on a plaque, now. There was a dedication ceremony at the Ministry and everything, to honor everybody that fought and those who died, and your name’s up there, glowing bright as the sun. That was my bit, the glowing. There just wasn’t enough flair the way they had it and that didn’t seem right, ‘cause you were always a light, Freddie, to me and a lot of other people. Thought about making the podium shoot off fireworks when they read off your name, too, or putting some kind of spell on the place where—where it happened, but, ya know, subtlety. And it seemed a little disrespectful.” 

He smiled, tracing the name in front of him for a moment before suddenly digging in his pocket. “Ah, yes, something else.” He pulled out a toy mouse with a misshapen face, an extremely long tail, and bright yellow fur. Eyes and nose were small and black and the effect was slightly creepy. “This is Fred Four,” he announced. “It being Ginny’s last year at school, I started thinking of Ron’s _first_ year at school and that spell we gave him to turn his rat yellow, ‘member that? ‘Course that rat wasn’t really a rat, it was really a Death Eater who killed Harry’s parents and framed Sirius and whatnot. I guess he really was a rat, then, huh? Anyway, fun times. This rat isn’t really a rat, either, course, it’s a mouse, but I transfigured the face to look a little rat-like and turned the fur yellow. Hey, I guess old Scabbers was really a rat _and_ yellow, wasn’t he? Can’t believe a little yellow rat made it into Gryffindor.”

He shook his head and remembered something else. “Speaking of Percy, he and I went to the place where—well, I prefer to think of it as where you had your last laugh, ‘cause that’s triumphant ‘steada depressing. Percy told a bunch of really bad jokes and I think he cried more than I did, which is saying something, ya know. He was really awkward about the jokes and he kept explaining that he thought you’d want it because of the last thing you said to him and it was kind of adorable. I told him not to feel bad about telling the jokes, but I also told him he _should_ feel bad about how badly he was telling them. Didn’t stop him, though. He’s getting better about that, about not letting embarrassment stop him, and about dealing with jokes and pranks. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie,” he said, crouching down in front of the stone to brush away the little snow that had fallen since his visit the day before. “Happy Christmas.”

He settled back, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on them. “It’s easier this year, since it’s not _the first Christmas_. Mum still got all teary-eyed when she saw me in my sweater, but she smiled, too, and then just gave me a really long hug. She—she said she misses you, but that she’s so glad I’m still here. It—I hope that doesn’t bother you, Freddie. We’re not forgetting you, ever. But I am still here and I—It was nice to hear because I’m not just your ghost and I sometimes worry that people, especially Mum, look at me like I am. But more and more, people are starting to think of me as separate from you and it hurts sometimes, but it feels . . . okay, too. It feels like . . . healing. 

“I am healing, Fred. You’re always going to be my twin and it’s always going to hurt that you’re not here, but it’s . . . not as raw? It’s not an open wound anymore. 

“I think everybody else is healing, too. It’s easier to talk about you, for all of us. Easier to say ‘If Fred was here, he’d . . .’ Dad still can’t bring himself to take your hand off the clock and maybe he never will—I think that would be nice—but no one felt the need to cover it up and I’ve seen people looking at it and even smiling sometimes. We’re not forgetting you, Freddie, but we’re living.”

He fished a toy mouse from his pocket and its grey fur sparkled in the sun. “Fred Five. He projectile vomits glitter when you say ‘Vomit Comet.’” Glitter sprayed in a wide arc, coating nearly the entire stone. “He’s got a decent range, see?” He grinned mischievously. “Now you match the Burrow.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” He grinned and rose up on his toes, bouncing a little in excitement. “Happy April Fools.

“I think we can call this a tradition now.” He fished a toy mouse from his pocket, grey fur slightly iridescent with swirls of pastel blues and pinks and yellows. “’Member that year we mixed the bubble potion into the eggs and everyone ate them before they realized? Percy hid in his room all day so no one would see him spewing bubbles every time he talked. Ron got all angry about it. And little baby Ginny wandering around popping bubbles and giggling out more; I think Mum should have paid us for that, ‘steada punishing us. That potion was a work of art. Still one of our best sellers at the shop. Ginny bought some the other day and she made our—my birthday cake, so I won’t be eating that.” 

He laughed and held up the toy mouse with a smug smile. “Fred Six blows bubbles. From his butt.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” He dropped to his knees, a hand on top of the stone that never changed. “It’s . . .—Two years, now. Two years since we fought the Death Eaters and lost so many people.”

He fished a toy mouse from his pocket, scarlet and gold-stripes blinding in the sunlight. “Angelina inspired this one. Gryffindor colors, of course, ‘cause that’s how we met, but the important thing about it is . . .” He squeezed it rapidly, causing it to emit half a dozen squeaks. “Real mice squeak, ya know. And girls do too when they see ‘em. Even Gryffindor girls who could take me in a fight any day.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” Someone had already brushed away the snow, but he busied himself with the few flakes that had fallen since. “Happy Christmas.”

He grinned. “I caused trouble this year, o’ course, but I wasn’t the one who caused the _most_ trouble: Charlie brought a whole litter of baby dragons. You’d’a loved it. Mum pitched a fit and said she wouldn’t have them in the house and he argued that she always says all family is welcome and she can’t throw out his kids on Christmas. Shoulda seen the look on her face, Freddie! On _both_ their faces. Priceless. She actually let ‘em in, too. They’re surprisingly well-behaved for dragons.” He fished a bright blue toy mouse from his pocket, fur singed in several places. “I was a bit worried ‘Charlie’s kids’d eat Fred Eight, though. They didn’t, but they got him with a bit of fire, which sent Mum absolutely mad.” He laughed at the memory.

“He glows in the dark, by the way.” He frowned and picked at one of the singed spots with a nail. “Well, mostly.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” He sat back against the stone, taking in the view. “Happy April Fools.”

He looked down at his hands. “I still miss you every day. Three years in and I still hate growing older without you, even if it does make me the older twin.”

He sniffed and fished two identical copper-colored toy mice from his pocket. “I couldn’t bring just one this time, Freddie. I brought twins. They’re called Fred Nine and Fred Nine, ‘cause I couldn’t bring myself to make one come before the other. They have the same red hair as ours, see? Or, as mine, I guess. I’m keeping both, ‘cause they need to stay together.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” Head and shoulders bowed, hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground. “Been thinking about the other people who died in the battle that day. Tonks, who could change anything about herself whenever she wanted. Remus, who changed against his will. Been thinking a lot about change, actually. About changing without you.” A pause. “We don’t look alike anymore.”

After a moment, he shook himself. “Change isn’t always a bad thing, ya know. Changing . . . Changing is living, Freddie.” He grinned. “Sorry, bad subject.

“Hey, ‘member that time we gave everybody chocolates that made their hair randomly change colors? Great prank, doesn’t usually work more than once. But it was totally worth it, wasn’t it? Percy’s face was as pink as his hair. Charlie didn’t even mind, or he didn’t notice. Ginny shrieked like a banshee.” He laughed and wiped at his eyes.

“Anyway. Change.” He fished a purple toy mouse with pink and blue polka dots from his pocket. “Fred Ten here is quite the little changer. Changes colors randomly. All different colors and patterns at random times. You never know what he’s gonna look like.”

He fished another identical mouse from his pocket. “And, uh, I know this is kinda sentimental and sappy, but I didn’t want to have something else that changed without you, so, because I could, I charmed this one to always change at the same time as Fred Ten, to the same thing. They’re changing together, Freddie, for the rest of forever.”

He set the mouse on the ledge around the bottom of the stone, next to the plain grey one, and extended the protection charms. “There ya go, Freddie, now you’ve got a Fred Ten of your own.”

Both toys turned a sickly shade of green with orange stripes.

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” He squatted before the stone and traced the name with his fingers. “Happy Christmas.”

He fished a polished wooden toy mouse from his pocket. “We’ve got Angelina to thank for Fred Eleven here. He’s made out of wood, she says so he’ll last longer without getting all nasty like the other ones tend to. I don’t know what she’s talking about; I clean them sometimes. Wives can be kinda picky, Freddie, make a note.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” He squeezed the yellowish-brown furry mouse toy in his hand and it let out a belching noise. “Happy April Fools. This is Fred Twelve. I was gonna get another squeaky one, but I thought this was way more appropriate to the holiday. I managed to get one under everyone’s chairs at my birthday dinner. Percy, Ginny, and Fleur had the best reactions. Hermione figured it out right away and glared at me the whole time. Harry thought it was hilarious. I knew we kept that kid for a reason.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.”

He dug a dark brown toy mouse from his pocket. “Not calling this one Fred Thirteen, especially not considering what today is the anniversary of, ‘cause bad luck an’ all, so meet Fred Fourteen. He laughs when you say ‘Giggle Wiggle.’” A slightly maniacal laugh rose from the mouse and it writhed in his hand. “Percy says it’s a creepy laugh, so I’ve been leaving them all over his house and work office and setting them to go off randomly.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” He knelt in the snow. “Happy Christmas.”

He pulled two mouse toys from his pocket, one a sickly yellow-green from nose to tail and one swirled in varying shades of pink. “I couldn’t decide between a Fantastic Farter and a Scream Queen, but I figured, it’s Christmas, so I brought two again. The Fantastic Farter is Fred Fifteen, for fairly fantastic reasons, Freddie. Sixteen screams, certainly.”

He tested both, a shrill scream erupted from the pink one and a cloud of matching gas from the green one. He coughed and sniffed. “Glad I toned down the skunk, Freddie. That was intense and it lasted for weeks after The Incident. Wish you’d been there, Fred, you’d’a died laughing.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” He settled himself on the ground. “Happy April Fools.”

A purple mouse emerged from his pocket, squeaking when he squeezed it. “Throwback year. Fred Seventeen’s just a regular ol’ squeaker. Pranks are a throwback, too. I’ve done all the old classics. Hair-Changing Chocolates. Bubble Potion. Short-sheeting. Exploding pants. Prophecies about the world ending. You know the drill.” He grinned crookedly.

“I’ve been up to no good, Freddie.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” He shuffled his feet as he grinned like a child. “ You’re gonna think I’ve gone all sappy this year and maybe I have.” He pulled a stuffed mouse from behind his back, soft brown fabric and large, safe eyes made of thread. “With the baby coming, I thought it was appropriate. He’s all soft and squishy and safe for a kid. Fred Eighteen.”

He lowered the toy. “I know it’s your anniversary, but I think you’d be alright if I focused on the future, too.”

\----------------------------

“Hey, Freddie.” He grinned tiredly down at the stone. “I know this isn’t one of the special days I usually bring you a new mousie, but this is a very special mousie and I couldn’t wait.”

Slowly, carefully, he crouched down and pulled back the blanket at one end of the soft bundle he held so tenderly in his arms. The little one squirmed in the brisk fall air, wrinkling his tiny nose in displeasure. “Freddie,” George said solemnly, tears on the edges of his eyes and voice, but a smile on his face, “this is my son, Fred. We named him after you, of course, how could we not. In a way, you’ll always be with us.” He winked broadly at the stone. “You know, in spirit.

“Angelina insists he’s Fred the Second, but you and I know that he’s actually Fred Nineteen.”

He chuckled and looked down at his little one, just blinking his eyes open. “Hey, little mouse,” he crooned, “meet your Uncle Fred.”

**Author's Note:**

> One "mouse" per year Fred was alive (20).


End file.
